The Beasts Of Valhalla

now with Father.'

'They're where?'

'With Father. Our babies don't have time to make the necessary choices, and so Father personally molds their souls in preparation for Great Time.'

'You send your babies off to this-to Father?'

'Of course,' Sister Esther said, obviously taken aback by my open astonishment. 'It is the only way our babies can be saved. In the meantime, we wait for Father's Treasure.'

'Father's Treasure?'

'I don't think I should discuss that,' the girl said softly.

No discussion was necessary. No matter what these people believed, 'Father's Treasure' had to be Lot 57-the next generation of genetic juice that was tearing up Garth and me. If Lippitt's information was correct, Siegmund Loge had dozens of communes like this one, ringing the world, providing him not only with infants for direct human experimentation, but with a huge test population when Lot 57 was ready. Loge was going to show these people a great time, all right, but I knew that trying to warn them of the danger would have about as much chance of success as trying to convince them that Siegmund Loge wasn't really God. Garth and I had wandered into what amounted to no more than a breeding pen for test animals, and the realization made me nauseous.

Where was Garth?

'What did you do before you came here, Brother Luke?' I asked, quite content to change the subject.

'I was a metallurgist,' the young man replied tersely.

'Oh, you're being very modest, Brother Luke,' Sister Esther said, smiling coquettishly at him. 'He was an exceptionally gifted metallurgist, Brother Boris, a member of an elite society of knifemakers called the Anvil Ring. In fact,' she added proudly, 'he was the youngest person ever invited to join.'

'That's nice.' I was becoming increasingly distracted and wished the two Children of Father would just go away. If Garth didn't show up in another ten minutes, I was going to go looking for him.

But Brother Luke's accomplishments were obviously a subject Sister Esther enjoyed talking about. 'Tell Brother Boris about Whisper,' she continued. 'Tell him how it was made.'

Brother Luke frowned. 'It's a secret, Sister Esther.'

'Oh, come on!' the girl said, pinching his cheek playfully. 'You're with Father now, so there's no need for secrets like that. Share your triumph.' She turned to me. 'Whisper is one of the most remarkable achievements in the history of personal arms,' she said primly.

'The members of our society collaborated over a period of years to create her,' the young man said reluctantly.

'This 'Whisper,' I take it, is a knife?' I asked.

Brother Luke nodded. 'Yes-named for the sound she makes when she's unsheathed. Whisper's made of Damascus steel, and there's no other blade like her-hasn't been for centuries. Do you know anything about knives or steelmaking, Brother Boris?'

'Not really.' Five minutes. If Sister Esther and Brother Luke weren't going to go away, I was going to have to figure out a way to get rid of them.

Now Brother Luke was warming to his subject, and his eyes had taken on a strange glow. 'Damascus steel was made by a secret process thought lost forever in the Middle Ages, and it's a formula I will share with Father, if he so desires. Alexander the Great had swords of Damascus steel, and the finest samurai swords were made of it. A blade made of Damascus steel can split a feather in midair, yet cut through hardwood for hours without losing its edge. Damascus steel is at once incredibly flexible and incredibly strong. Anyway, members of my group rediscovered the secret process, and Whisper is the result. When I was invited to become one of Father's Children, I knew I had to bring Whisper as my offering to Father.'

'You mean you stole it.'

Brother Luke didn't much care for that. 'Everything belongs to Father,' he said, scowling.

'It's just that a knife seems like a strange gift to bring to Father. After all, who'll need weapons in the Great Time?'

Brother Luke flushed, turned to the girl. 'He doesn't understand,' he said tightly, then wheeled and walked stiffly away.

One down, one to go.

Where was Garth?

'There's no need to be rude, Brother Boris,' the girl said reprovingly. 'The offerings are only symbolic.'

'Of what?'

'Our love. It's suggested that new Children bring certain kinds of offerings, tokens of affection and commitment. The practice is said to please Father and members of His earth family greatly.'

'It wouldn't surprise me.' Whatever happened to the rest of the world in Great Time, I thought, the Loges would be going into it with quite a collection of loot, some of it, undoubtedly, of considerable value.

'Brother Luke's offering has created a lot of excitement around here. It's so perfect.'

I started to ask why it was so perfect, but the words stuck in my throat.

'You look very strange, Brother Boris,' the girl said. 'Are you all right?'

No, I was most definitely not all right-and, as I watched Garth stagger through a door and fall to his knees in a bright circle of light at the opposite end of the hall, it occurred to me that neither my brother nor I might ever again know what it felt like to be all right. The left side of Garth's face looked to be swollen to about twice its normal size, and he was bleeding from his mouth and nose. Every instinct cried out for me to go to him, but I somehow managed to stay where I was, staring stupidly off into space as Sister Esther gasped and backed away to join the other Children, who had retreated to stand against the walls.

Suddenly the hall was silent as-well, a grave.

Mike Leviticus, Reverend Ezra, Brothers Amos and Joshua came into the hall, took up positions in a semicircle around Garth, who was struggling to get to his feet. Reverend Ezra's frizzy locks were plastered to his forehead with nervous sweat. Leviticus's gloves were off, and in the bright light it appeared as if the sides of both hands were sheathed with blades of polished, bare bone that was actually growing out of the flesh.

Which, of course, was impossible.

Leviticus pulled Garth to his feet, shoved him toward me. Garth staggered, then recovered his balance and walked fairly steadily the rest of the way.

'Well done, Mongo,' Garth said in a low, thick voice as he stopped in front of me. 'They still don't know that you can see.'

'How badly are you hurt, Garth?'

'It probably looks worse than it is. I lost a couple of teeth in the back, but the jaw doesn't seem to be broken. Brother Mike has a curious set of hands, and he definitely knows how to use them. We're in the shithouse, brother. We're now officially certified as servants of Satan.'

'That much I surmised. Did you find out anything?'

'Nope. I no sooner let myself out a window than I ran into the side of one of Leviticus's hands. It took me this long to wake up.'

'Satan isn't going to like this,' I said in a loud voice. 'I have a good mind to turn everybody black.'

An alarmed murmur rose from the Children ringing the hall, and Garth grinned through his swollen lips. 'I was sent to get you. Should we go quietly, or make a beau geste and let them beat the shit out of us?'

'Do you think they mean to kill us when they get us outside?'

'There's always that possibility, but I tend to doubt it. After all, Siegfried Loge finally got back to the Reverend, and I wasn't killed outright. No matter what other avenues of research those crazy fuckers are pursuing, it seems the two live Frederickson brothers are still considered the keys to Valhalla.'

'Then let's save our energy,' I said, reaching out for Garth's arm.

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